


... And You're Still Here

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Written in 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Sing me somethin'..."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	... And You're Still Here

“So,” Jensen says as he drops his back-pack on top of other bags and suitcases collected in one corner of the long hallway, and looks up at Jared, who’s standing in the doorway. “What do we do now? _Halo_? Movie? Wanna walk the dogs?”

Jared glances at Jensen’s packed guitar and raises his eyebrow eloquently, making Jensen frown confusedly in return. Just for a moment though, because then he catches Jared’s gaze and follows it, and immediately understands. He vehemently shakes his head. “Jay.” It’s a clear warning that Jared promptly decides to ignore.

“Sing me somethin’.”

“Uh, no... No.”

“Pleeeeaaaase.” Jared bats his eyelashes, grinning sweetly as he pulls from the door-jamb and picks up Jensen’s guitar.

Jensen crosses his arms over his chest, stubbornly refusing to take the instrument. “Why?”

“Well, ‘cause I missed it the last time you played for the fans.”

“But... that’s not exactly _my_ fault, is it?”

“Should have told me... I would have changed my plans.”

“Believe me,” Jensen says seriously, when he finally takes the guitar from Jared, and heads for the kitchen. “If _I’d_ known, I would have changed my plans too.”

Jared follows him into the room with amused laughter. “You were great. I was actually pretty impressed myself.”

He doesn’t understand why Jensen refuses to sing in public, why he doesn’t even consider making his own CD, when he’s so good. Because Jensen _is_ good, better than many so called professional singers, who make money for singing horribly and totally off-key. But Jensen is Jensen, and when Jensen makes up his mind, there’s no power in the world that could cause him to change it.

Jensen sits down on the edge of the kitchen table with an overwhelmed sigh and rests his bare foot on the closest chair. “So what do you want me to play?” He asks as he flickers his eyes up to Jared and places the guitar on his knee. “Any special request?”

He is well aware of the fact that, after all these years, he should be more than used to Jared’s pleading puppy eyes and, most of all, able to resist their power, but he’s not. Not at all. He’s weak when it comes to Jared, and he also unfortunately knows why.

“I don’t know.” Jared shrugs indecisively before he seats himself up on the kitchen counter across from Jensen, leisurely dangling his feet in the air. “Whatever comes to mind.”

He watches Jensen nod, set his fingers on the strings and give them first teasing, testing stroke.

“Hey, why don’t you play yourself anyway?” Jensen asks suddenly, completely ruining the moment.

“Because I’m not that good,” Jared explains, at which Jensen shakes his head disapprovingly. “And because I can’t sing.” That though, is a truth that even Jensen doesn’t try to deny. “And because I wanna hear _you_.”

“I’m seriously flattered,” Jensen comments dryly, but with a hint of smile ghosting across his lips.

There’s a silence for several minutes while Jensen searches his memory and ponders his abilities, rolling one song after another inside his head, and dismissing them just as carefully, then the first, firm tones fill the space in between them. Jensen’s deep, soothing voice follows:

“ _I can be an asshole of the grandest kind. I can withhold like it’s goin’ out of style. I can be the moodiest baby and you’ve never met anyone who is as negative as I am sometimes..._ ”

It’s one of Jared’s favourite songs, always has been, but he began to like it even more after he heard Jensen play it. There is certain fragility, unique urgency in the way Jensen pronounces each word, in the way his fingers touch the strings. His voice is different when he sings, richer, reaching diverse depths and heights, and brushing across Jared’s skin like a feather, covering it with goose bumps.

Jared, however, has never had such problems concentrating on the song itself like he does now. He doesn’t know what to look at first, what to focus on. On Jensen’s long fingers; running over the strained strings with light, but powerful touches and skilled movements. On his lips; pink and full, and so tasty looking, moving with the lyrics he brings out. Or on his eyes; purely green in the lazy afternoon sun. Eyes that seem to look everywhere, and anywhere but at Jared. When they slide along the kitchen, returning back to Jared finally, Jensen’s gaze is intense, open and piercing. It seems to be penetrating some walls of certainty and sovereignty that Jared is sure used to stand around him, and grazing even further. Jensen hits the chorus at the same time, raising his voice, and making Jared feel like he’s just been punched in the stomach by how emotive and suggestive Jensen’s tone suddenly is.

“ _You see everythin’, you see every part. You see all my light and you love my dark. You dig everythin’ of which I’m ashamed, there’s not anything’ to which you can’t relate, and you’re still here..._ ”

“Why are you’re lookin’ at me like that?” Jensen asks after the third verse as he glances up, arching his eyebrow at Jared’s frozen stare without playing a single cord wrong.

“Why are you?” Jared means to ask, but what he really says in the end is, “Like what?” Sometimes he’s a coward like that.

“I don’t know,” Jensen shrugs, waving his hand without thinking and breaking the song at last. “Like this. Like... like you wanna bite me or somethin’.” He looks back at the strings, picking up where he’s left off. “Is it that terrible?” He wonders, wincing slightly at the answer he’s sure he’s not gonna like, and making the usually hidden dimples in his cheeks appear.

“No.” Jared smiles and shakes his head. “Not at all.” He jumps off the counter and leans against it, staring back at Jensen, who ducks his head exactly three seconds later. “You’ve no idea, do you?”

“Sorry?”

Holding Jensen’s stare resolutely, Jared steps forward. “You really don’t,” he states, amazed. “No idea how fuckin’ hot you look with the guitar in your lap. How captivatin’ your eyes are like this when you’re so nervous and shy, and supreme at the same time. So dark and deep, Jensen... No idea how much I wanna kiss you right now.”

It’s always been there, from the very beginning, since the first greeting. Silent. Waiting. It was in the way they talked with each other, how they behaved and acted around each other, so openly and comfortably, living and breathing with the same vibes. With Jensen, everything felt comfortable, simple and natural. Falling asleep shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, drinking until neither of them could see properly, early mornings and late nights of filming. Always waiting for summer, planning trips and parties, falling and standing up just with the promise of a break, then panicking when the time finally comes. Leaving Jensen is never easy; it takes days before Jared stops feeling like he’s missing a limb. Weeks before he ceases expecting him to be there every time he spins around, before he turns on the TV and isn’t waiting for Jensen to start a battle over the remote control, before he stops waiting for Jensen’s snarky comments on TV commercials. Jensen’s close even when he’s far, but when he’s not there, he’s just not there.

Jensen looks up at Jared and swallows thickly; uncertain but wanting. “Jared.” It comes out breathlessly, quiet, and almost frightened.

Jared steps in between Jensen’s thighs and slips his fingers down Jensen’s unshaved face, cupping his cheek. “You’re plannin’ to scream... you better start now.”

Jensen parts his lips and Jared panic that Jensen’s gonna do exactly that, that he’s finally crossed the line, but Jensen leans over the guitar instead and rests his hand on Jared’s waist, pulling him closer. His lips are soft and warm, and taste of beer and something that must be just Jensen.  
It’s no revolution, no drama; it feels simple, like home and a long time lost and scattered pieces of puzzle falling finally together. It just feels like _them_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] ... And You're Still Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510702) by [froggyfun365](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggyfun365/pseuds/froggyfun365)




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